


Politics and Promises

by Livingshroom



Category: Big Brother RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marriage, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Political!AU, Sexual Repression, Zach/Frankie is endgame, cursing, happy-ish ending, mentions of domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livingshroom/pseuds/Livingshroom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was as if Frankie was a flame that had both burned and illuminated Zach. Eyes that had grown cold in the winter months thawed, and his vision returned. A mouth that had been drawn tight with every passing year had relaxed, and his smile returned. Hands that had been so sure of themselves now looked lost, and Zach’s longing returned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Politics and Promises

It was a normal evening in the Rance household. From an outsider’s perspective, the house glowed with rosy light from the kitchen, and the front doors looked like a beaming hostess would throw them open any minute with a baby on one hand and a tray of treats on the other.

The inside of the house was a different story. From the inside, the house echoed with a baby wailing, a women screaming, and the re-runs of cartoons.

The usual scene was interrupted by a knocking. The knock silenced the noise as the couple’s screams stopped, the babies wails were cut off with a pacifier, and the cartoons were reluctantly shut off by a petulant child who was sent to his room.

Mr. Rance opened the door. He blocked the light from inside as he took up much of the doorway, and he held himself with the air of a man who was used to getting what he wanted.

“ _Zach_!” Mr. Rance stiffened as he was hugged by a stranger.

The stranger smelled strongly of cigarettes, and Mr. Rance pushed the unfamiliar man away but not before his ironed shirt was ruined by the snow from the stranger’s coat.  

“Who are you?”

By this time Mrs. Rance had arrived, and she watched the display with a baby hanging off her hip and a scowl to match her husband’s.

“You...um...don’t recognize me? I mean, shit, I only knew you for forever! Come on!” The stranger chortled and scratched the back of his mangy hair like a disappointed mongrel. 

They stood there measuring each other up. Mr. Rance looked from the bright pink hair, distressed jacket, paint splattered pants, and all the way down to the worn out shoes of the stranger. The stranger took in the now wrinkled shirt, slacks, and shining shoes of Mr. Rance.

Their eyes meet and Mr. Rance took a step back as recognition took the confidence from under his step, and he shrank in size.

“Is that...Wait, Frankie? F-Frankie Grande?” Mr. Rance’s eyes widened, and his wife laughed silently in amusement as he took another step backwards and almost tripped over an antique vase.

“In the flesh and blood, Zachary,” Frankie replied.

Zach had lost all pretense of composure, and a strong gust of wind reawakened him from his shocked stupor. This time it was Zach who wrapped the familiar stranger into his arms, and they stood there: door still wide open, limbs tangled, and chests heaving.

They may have stayed there forever, quite the unusual sight, if Mrs. Rance hadn’t stepped out from the shadows and coughed. Zach abruptly released Frankie, thankful that there was no paparazzi around, and shut the door behind them.

“I’m sorry for not realizing that... _shit!_  I just didn’t expect after all these years that- Well, come on in. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how did you get past security?”     

“ _Security_?!” Frankie’s grin was as sharp as Zach  remembered, “I do hope that you’re joking with me, Zach-attack, because I’ve seen public parks harder to break into. There were so many blind spots in the system-I must say I’d be pretty embarrassed if I was you. Considering how we used to-”

“Shall I give you a tour?” Zach  was quick to cut him short, and Mrs. Rance raised one of her finely shaped brows at her husband’s blotchy cheeks and downcast eyes. Mrs. Rance’s extended hand was ignored and unborn thoughts died on her lips as she was regarded like a piece of decorative furniture. She slunk into the shadows and followed the two reunited men, but she was only a fleeting ghost in their consciousness.

They wandered up and down the mansion, but in their minds there was nothing except them. Not a scream from his son, not a whispered word from his wife, or vibration from his cell phone could steal Zach’s attention away from this familiar stranger.

How strange, Zach pondered, for this man to stand in his living room. How absurd, he added, for such old and beaten shoes to tread these carpets from India. How amazing, he couldn’t help to think, that after all this time he felt the same.

All the grandeur of the handsome man who had opened the front door was gone and now it was only an overgrown boy who was left in his stead. It was as if Frankie was a flame that had both burned and illuminated Zach. Eyes that had grown cold in the winter months thawed, and his vision returned. A mouth that had been drawn tight with every passing year had relaxed, and his smile returned. Hands that had been so sure of themselves now looked lost, and Zach’s longing returned.

 -----------------------------------

“How have you been passing these years?” They leaned against the balcony, and looked up to the heavens. Fog swirled around them.

Zach stared at the moon, and he thought of the days when he had been as pure and whole as the moon itself. Frankie gazed at the stars, and he thought of the days when his ambition was just as infinite.

“They’ve passed, and I’ve...” Frankie blew smoke from his lips, “I’ve gotten by in the usual ways.”

“You promised me that you would focus on your art and acting, Frankie. You gave me your word that you wouldn't...” Zach, ever wary of keeping his back turned for long, checked over his shoulder for intruders, but the only soul was his wife behind the glass trying to soothe their raging child. Zach turned back to gaze piteously upon the moon like a good christian child kneeling by his bedside.  

“Well, I made a lot of fucking promises back then, but so did you. I can see you’ve been getting by. _Wife_? _Children_? _Senator_ _of New York_? Just missing a white-goddamn-picket-fence, Zach!” Frankie spat. Zach crossed his arms protectively in front of him and, though he was not a smoker himself, he was comforted when Frankie lit up another cigarette.

“What makes you think you can show up on my doorstep, half-dressed for pete’s sake, and judge the way my life has turned out? I’ve bitten my tongue this far to save you embarrassment in front of Victoria, but you’re going to have to tell me why you’re here. Why- why now?”

They relapsed into silence, and Frankie’s face was contorted in the moonlight.

Frankie’s hand, memory of an earlier life still haunting it, floated itself onto Zach’s hand. Mrs. Rance would not be able to see their fingers intertwined from where she sat, and even if she could it was doubtful that Frankie cared. He was reckless, sloppy, and self-entitled, and Zach shouldn’t have indulged him by leaning in and squeezing back- yet he did.

“I’ve traveled all around the world like I said I would. I painted in the streets of Paris, and sketched on the train to London. I’ve been constantly running, searching, seeking, hoping, and looking. I’ve been looking- for a _muse_. After five years, living off of a few commissions and...you know- odd jobs, um, up in Mullingar, Ireland, I still had nothing. _Nothing_! All I had were my skills, the clothes on my back, and my sketchbook. I found comfort from boys in bars. Boys with loud words and dark hair that filled up the silence for a night. They had never lasted, and all I was left with was the taste of their ashy kisses, and an empty bed when the sun reappeared- no muse...”

“I came here tonight because I saw your face in the newspaper in Ireland, and  I- I need you, Zach.” Frankie’s face was an open canvas, and pain was painted by a few wrinkles as he choked the words. Zach was overwhelmed at the sight of the pulsing vulnerability, and he couldn’t afford to be dragged down by his baser nature.

Zach let go of Frankie’s hand, and he stepped back from the portrait of his desires.

“You don’t need me, Grande.” His voice was sharp and he cut away at the masterpiece of helplessness before him, “The allegations you have made tonight are quite ludicrous, and I find it unreasonable that you saw my photo in the paper and became compelled to make a journey back to America, after all these years, simply to make such a- a declaration. You can stay here as long as you want, of course, but refrain from saying... _things_ like that again.”

Forgotten and covered were the days, like leaves fallen and buried by the snow, when Zach was as naive and hopeful as a full moon. 

“You don’t need me, and I don’t need you. I’ve managed fine, as you can see, without you!”

“I can see that,” Frankie whispered.

The wailing of a baby echoed throughout the house, as if signaled by his words, and inside there waited more yelling and paperwork. Outside, Zach saw flushed cheeks and the pink petals that formed the lips of his forbidden fruit. He had come to terms that there were things he _could_ and things he  _couldn't_  have. But, oh dear lord have mercy, how he wanted, wanted, and _wanted_ to take a bite.

“Please, Zach, I promise you-”

“ _SHUT UP_! Shut up, dear god, shut up! Don’t you think I’m done with your promises? When did they ever do me any good? My whole life all you've done is selfishly try to keep me as your own and pervert me like yourself. Don’t you remember high school? I want nothing to do with you and your unfruitful promises.”

“Please...please stay with me this time.”

The dying ember of Frankie’s cigarette had fallen to the stone ground and fizzled to nothing as the babies screams crescendoed and Mrs. Rance’s dance became more frantic.   

“I can’t leave! You know that, Grande!”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

\-----------------------------------

Zach, hand still white from clenching his fists, marched back into his house, and he left Frankie to gaze upon the stars. Frankie sighed, buried his head into his arms, and let his tears freeze upon his cheeks as he was consumed by all the what-could-have-beens. He was completely wrapped up in his own self-pity that he didn't notice a shadow fall upon him.

“Mr. Grande, there’s a room at the end of the second floor, by the painting of the knight, for you. Alright?” Mrs. Rance called into the night.

If Frankie had looked up, then he would have noticed the darkening red mark that scarred Mrs. Rance’s pale face or her hands clenched into a silent prayer. If Frankie had looked up, then he would have noticed a silhouette pacing in the window of the largest bedroom. If Frankie had looked up, then he would have seen the faint promise of tomorrow.

The next morning painted over all the harsh words from yesterday.

Mrs. Rance stood in her dressing room, and the gentle brush strokes of powder erased her bruising pain into a vision of perfection. Mr. Rance straightened his tie, hardened his eyes, and tightened his lips as he prepared himself for an interview with the News Channel about the withering economy or the newest disaster that mankind had inflicted upon itself.  

“ _What am I doing_?” Zach asked himself as he rubbed a hand over his clean face and tried to forget yesterday. He was lost with nothing but his words, clear and precise, and his heart, inaccurate and unfaithful, to lead him forward.

One tousled head peeked out from under puffy bed sheets, and if any maids had seen Frankie then they would have stared, out of the corner of their eyes, at his disheveled clothes and unshaven face. A lost soul in a sea of makeshift order.

“ _What am I doing_?” Frankie asked himself as he scratched his prickly face and remembered yesterday. He was lost with nothing but his sketchbook, disheveled and ripped, and his heart, idealistic but worn, to guide him forward.

Frankie shook away all of the burdens that weighed him down, and he picked up his sketchbook from beside his bed. For the first time in months, his brush flew across the paper and he recreated the delicate curve of Zach’s neck, and the shining in his eyes as he gazed upon the heavens. Frankie defiled the white page with the cravings for his muse and painted it’s pale page with the scars of his unwanted love: white honesty, blue bruises, and constant red.

A knocking on the door made his hand pause in it’s pursuit.

“Yes?” The door creaked open, and the ghost, a beautiful baby gurgling under her arms, reappeared. Her nightgown was a silk sheet and the only distinct features she had was her dark hair and sharp eyes. The spirit held a glass of translucent liquid in her free hand.

“I don’t know if I properly introduced myself last night, Frankie, in your joy to see Zach. My name is Victoria Rance. How did you sleep?”

“Well, um, thank you for your hospitality on such a short notice, Mrs. Rance. Everything here is lovely- your house, kids, and life.”

She floated closer, and the bed creaked when she seated herself proving that she was not a figment of his imagination. The baby smiled at him, revealing a small tooth, and when the baby reached to touch him, Frankie flinched.

“Thank you, this here is Junior. Please, call me Victoria. What I came here to say is...I’ve never meet any of Zach’s friends that haven’t been- wealthy or powerful. This may not be my place to ask, but I was wondering about your history with my husband?”

“ _Ah_ , we go way back to the glory days. I taught him everything he knows, you know. No need to raise your eyebrow, Victoria. It takes a criminal to raise a politician, huh?” Victoria’s mouth formed into an _o_ , and she took a deep gulp from her glass. Frankie watched as color, blotchy red on her high cheeks, arose like the morning sun, and her eyes darkened.

“Interesting...My husband’s record has always been spotless. Did you know that his chances, according to recent polls, of winning the election in a year’s time are high?”

“ _Ha_! Can you imagine? President Rance has quite a ring to it. You must be very pleased that your husband is doing so well. He also mentioned briefly last night that you’re pregnant?” She protectively placed a hand over her protruding stomach and smiled without wrinkling her eyes.

Out in the hallway, he could hear a sweet flute playing and Frankie guessed it was one of the other rosy cheeked children. Frankie got out of bed as the the chubby toddler made another grab at him, and he suddenly felt very out of place in this room full of Zach's furniture and family. Even the clothes he picked up, drab and brown, looked out of place on the white couch.   

He waited for Victoria to get the social cue, but she continued to sit there with a baby in one hand and a drink in the other. Frankie pulled on his pants from last night, and the pair of haunting eyes on his back didn't deter him.

“That’s what they’ll film tomorrow night. A glowing wife of a clean cut politician whose only goal in life is to cater to his well-being and bear him sons. Isn't that what everyone wants to see?” Victoria asked.

“People will see what they’re told to see. I can sense there is an ulterior motive to this chat. So, are you going to tell me or do you want me to play twenty questions?” Frankie put his shirt on, and he watched the phantom figure with growing curiosity.

Victoria floated closer to him, and he could sense that beneath the powder and perfume there was a snake waiting to strike. Frankie wondered what had happened to this women, beauty still hidden behind her mask, that had filled her with so much venom.  

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Frankie- Every day that I stay in this _perfect_ little house playing the part of this _perfect_ little wife with my three perfect little children, I come closer and closer to-” The baby cooed as he watched his mother’s diamond earrings tremble, “-to shooting myself. I’ll let you in on another little secret, Frankie: you are the answer to my prayers. I have tried to tempt him astray for years now with blonde secretaries and underage maids. I thought...maybe the reason he refused to cheat was that he still...but I was wrong. You made it clear last night what you want- so fine. Take him.”

Frankie recoiled from her touch as he was torn between disgust and pity. Victoria was a woman who had grown old while still young, chained by social standards, and there were premature wrinkles growing on her forehead that outlined her dark desperation. Her face, wrought with pain, seemed out of place beneath her black curls, inside this pearl palace, and beside Zach’s gleaming children.

“I’ll let _you_ in on a little secret, Victoria: Your husband isn't interested in me. I made it clear last night what I wanted, and he doesn't...Hell, I tried so many years ago-”

“Oh, Frankie. Open your damn eyes, excuse the profanities, but if you asked him to jump into the fiery pits of hell, he would follow. He never looked at me the way he does when you- regardless, try again tonight...”

Frankie laughed bitterly.

He had waited this long, and, with the blessing of Zach’s perfect wife, what did he have to lose in making a fool of himself?

 -----------------------------------

Frankie spent the day wandering the mansion, and everything he saw only filled him with doubt. A portrait hung over the mantelpiece of the family room: Zach posed proudly at the center, Victoria leaned into his side, the beautiful baby waved, and a girl with freckles and braids smiled sweetly.

The girl with braids played below the portrait to a simple tune. She played notes that were precise, but there was a lifeless quality about them that haunted the halls. The girl had turned around when he walked in and stared at him, in a way that only children can, with an accusation that Frankie wasn't sure if he had hallucinated.

The past and present also floated through the mind of Mr. Rance as he struggled to make it through his interview.

The interview, thank god, passed without a single hitch. His smile was wide, sincere, and his laugh as untroubled as always. He had the spark in him that America craved, and the conservatism that would move even the eldest of bible loving ladies. When told of the hurricane, he was able to sound encouraging without cocky, and sympathetic without pitying.

The camera loved him, and he loved the camera. How the public would watch his face as they admired his cunning words and handsome features. How Mr Rance would watch the nation and admire his handsome poll numbers.  

Today was different because after the camera was gone he couldn't help but feel a resounding hollowness inside. What was wrong with him?

“I caught the end of your interview, Zach. You looked so cultivated and clean I was almost convinced that you couldn't be the same man in Scotland who streaked down to his-”

“Where’s Victoria and the kids?” Zach muttered as he leaned against the pristine couch in exhaustion- performing took it’s toll.

“Out. Preparing for that big interview tomorrow no doubt.”

“Ugh, finally. She’s always underfoot looking at me like she expects something! What does she want from me? More money? _Fine_. More sex? _Fine_ , she can go fool around with the milk man for all that I care. We have enough goddamn children.”

“How about love? How about compassion? How about understanding? Come on, Zach, you've forgotten after all these years what people need. Isn't that why you stayed with me for so long? I’m starting to wonder who is the poor one.” Frankie’s words were light hearted, but his eyes were foggy as misty memories arose from their grave.

Zach shook his head as he collapsed on the couch, and his face was rigid with repressed emotions. They were familiar strangers, and all that separated them now was time and the accusing faces of Zach’s children staring down at them from atop the fireplace.

“I went to college, but you’re the one who speaks with more wisdom than your body can contain. I- I don’t understand you. Or me. Or any of this.” Zach was a small boy dressed up in the skin of a thirty year old man, and he felt as though he was swimming in his suit. A life saver was cast in the form of a gentle hand threading through his hair, and Zach allowed himself to be soothed.

“You think so much that you forget to feel, Zach.” Frankie took off Zach’s jacket like they were in high school again relaxing on their couch after practice, “What do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“That’s understandable, but look deeper. Try again.”

“Um...warm because you're sitting so close to me. And afraid no- I’m not afraid...I’m excited because I can feel your breath wrapping around my neck, and I’m hoping for, uh, things I shouldn't. But mostly I feel safe because you would never let anything hurt me.”

“Is that it?” Frankie whispered.

“It feels like a weight has been lifted from my chest and I can breathe. For the first time today I feel...happy? Yes, I think that’s what it is- _happiness_.”

If only America could see their future President now, Zach thought sardonically as butterfly kisses gently flew down his neck. Zach was affected by the barely there touches with the intensity of a spreading fire, and though he burned with desire, there was a softer light alive inside of him as he looked into Frankie’s honest eyes. Lust rose in his left cheek and love in his right, and Zach was illuminated by the splendor of the life inside him.   

“Are you still afraid of me?” Frankie was always there offering, and how Zach wanted to feel the happiness that shook in his bones. Why shouldn't Zach be happy? Why should Zach suffer to please others? What was the point of life if not to find peace in this cold and lonely world?

“No, I've never been afraid of you, Frankie. I've been afraid of myself.”

When their lips touched it was like he had been living his life with one eye open. Zach felt his hard exterior dissolve, and he became what he always was. Zach’s rough hands, which had crumbled his wife and his rivals, where nothing except tender paws. Zach’s tight lips, which had been closed with bitterness, opened to taste honey. Zach opened his eyes, and he could see.

By the time the next interview came, Zach’s smile came easily to lips, and the world was bright. Victoria sat stiffly by his side and she was paler than usual. He wondered if she had overpowdered. The kids squirmed in their pressed outfits by his side.

It was going to be the usual questions and answers. Politics was a game his mother had taught him how to play well, and if he hadn't thought to become a president he might have been an actor or a thief. At least now he could be all three.

He had been distracted, secretly reliving last night’s events, that he didn't notice the interviewer fidgeting in his seat and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ah, yes, well I had a whole slew of questions planned, but before I ask them...I was just curious if this was you?” The sleek man raised his phone to show a youtube video. Zach's eyes immediately went to the title that screamed, _“RANCE CAUGHT CHEATING ON TAPE- WITH A MAN?”_

The hits were slowly climbing, and the images that played were clearly his back thrusting into a moaning man. If there had been any doubt of his identity, Zach's custom made diamond star of David had been haphazardly twisted onto his back.

Zach's eyes roamed the screen, and there was nothing he could say. Zach blinked slowly willing the bad dream to be over when he reopened his eyes. No luck. He read the top comment on the video: “At least now that fucking zombie Rance calls his ‘wife’ has an excuse to finally crawl away from her cage.”

Zach turned around to see Victoria gathering the children.  _How could she?_

The top commenter was right- as the video racked up views by the millions, Victoria packed her suitcases. Her father had already called to collect her and the kids, and Zach could only stand there and clutch the table. It was all a blur of flashing lights, screaming phone calls, and crying children.

Everything he knew to be right and true was disappearing in front of his eyes. This had been coming for a while, but the pain hit him all at once. The sky was falling, and he didn't believe there could be a tomorrow.

“How could you... _Why_?”

“You know.”

Victoria shut the last bag.

“What do I know?”

“This life will only give you what you put in it, Zach, and you never gave me anything other than the idea of a happy life and financial security. You used and abused me to try and fill that gaping hole inside of you. Then, you gave Frankie everything and...well, you only got what you deserved. Don’t worry about me, _sweetie_ \- I’ll win every last penny in the divorce.”

“You're going to leave me? Just like that?”

The slamming door was his only reply.

He stood by the window, and through a crack in the curtain he watched as Victoria, a baby on her hip and two kids by her side, parted the sea of flashing lights to reach the limo.

For the first time, he allowed feeling to wash over him. For the first time, he allowed the numbness to reside, and the shores of his mind revealed a resounding emptiness. Zach sank to the floor, pressed his back to the wall, and cried.

Zach cried for all the times that he had tried to be strong; all the mistakes; all the lies; all the pain he had caused Victoria; all the pain he had caused his children; all the pain that would take years to heal. Zach cried in relief for the death of that corrupt dream. The dream, which he had once thought so light and holy, had poisoned and killed his spirit. The dream, which he had thought would bring him peace, had drowned him.  

Frankie’s hand, protective and strong, wrapped itself around Zach’s shoulder, and Zach leaned into the touch with the desperation of a man dying at sea. They did nothing except breathe, and he listened to the sound of life pulsating out of them. Zach’s fists uncurled.

Frankie held Zach not because Zach was sinking, but because Frankie wanted to. He had wanted to for all these years, and Frankie had run away in hopes that he would stop wanting.

"You'd think these tears would be for everything I’ve lost: my wife, my children, and my career. But I'm- relieved. Light. I always thought when I grew up I would be a great defender of my country, but I grew up to be an overpaid thief and a liar. I stole money with my big, hollow words, and I lied to those closest to me with my silence."

"Did you miss me?"

"I've never stopped missing you, Frankie. Maybe I was running away just as much as you were, and when reality caught up with me, I realized how empty I was. Now I'm done, and I'm-I'm..." Zach was finally out of words, and Frankie watched as the curtains fluttered by some unknown breeze to cast a faint light in the dim room.

"Free?" Frankie suggested.

“ _Free_ ,” Zach agreed.

They were here together, like all those years ago, but this time they weren't afraid. They were here together, but this time they accepted what they were instead of running. They were here, in the dark, but Zach pulled back the curtains.

It was an abnormal evening in the Rance household. From the outside perspective darkness seemed to pervade the mansion, and the front doors looked like they had been bolted shut.

The inside of the house was a different story. From the inside, the house echoed with laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my usual style. But leave a kudo/comment if you enjoyed! :)


End file.
